


Diamond

by karcathy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Shh, dumb proposal fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 03:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karcathy/pseuds/karcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider, and today you’re going to propose to your boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diamond

 

You have the ring – diamond, of course, and not even slightly ironic. This is a genuine, honest-to-god engagement ring. You don’t even want to say how much you spent on it, but it was a lot. Part of you wonders whether you’ll be able to get a refund on it if he says no, but the rest of you really doesn’t want to consider that possibility.

 

You have the whole evening planned out, of course. It’s going to be almost painfully cheesy, and he’s certain to enjoy it completely unironically. You leave at seven, both of you wearing suits and dressed to the nines, and drive him to the fanciest restaurant you can afford. Usually, this would be McDonald’s, but your Bro knows what you’re planning and has slipped some extra cash into your wallet. By some, you mean around five thousand dollars. You hope none of them are Monopoly dollars.

“Wow,” John says, staring at the chandeliers, his eyes wide, “Wow. This place is...”

“Expensive?” you suggest, grinning.

He smiles at you, and takes your hand.

“I’m a little intimidated,” he says, “I don’t think we fit in.”

“We fit in just fine,” you say, “Look at these swanky suits.”

He giggles, and a waiter appears, giving you both a disapproving look. You’re not sure whether he’s more offended by the giggling, the hand-holding, or your shades.

“Your name?” he asks, somehow managing to convey his absolute contempt for you in two words.

“Strider. Table for two.”

He checks his list far more carefully than you think necessary.

“Right this way, sir.”

He leads you to a small, candlelit table in the corner, and hands you a menu each. You order a bottle of their most expensive wine, and an expression of disbelief crosses his face as he bows and leaves.

“He’s a bit stuck up, isn’t he?” John says, giggling again and opening his menu.

“I think they have special training courses on how to be snobby,” you say, searching the menu for the most expensive dish.

John collapses into a fit of giggles, earning himself a disapproving glare from a pug-faced lady a couple of tables away.

“Sorry,” he says, clamping a hand over his mouth.

You smile, carefully patting your breast pocket to check you still have the ring. You relax a little as you feel it.

“What do you want, then?” you ask, fiddling with the frame of your sunglasses and wondering whether you should take them off.

“Um,” he says, perusing the menu, “Gosh. They’re all so expensive!”

“Go wild.”

You grin, mentally thanking your Bro.

“Are you sure you can afford this?” he asks, chewing his thumbnail.

“Yep. Bro’s paying.”

He giggles. You grin.

 

When the waiter returns, you order the lobster, and he orders a steak. Sarcastically, the waiter asks if he’d like fries with that. John says yes please. You nearly laugh out loud at the waiter’s expression, and wonder how he’s going to get out of that one. He looks distinctly less pleased with himself as he returns to the kitchen.

“I don’t think he was being serious about the fries,” you say, laughing into your hand.

“Oh,” John says, blushing, “Now I feel like an idiot!”

“I bet he feels worse.”

He snorts into his wine, and you hope he’s picturing the same thing as you. You’re imagining the waiter trying to explain to a high-class chef that he has to make fries for this idiot.

“Oh no!” he says, as he sets his glass down and slops wine over the edge.

Little red spots decorate the white tablecloth.

“Oops,” you say, suppressing a grin.

“I don’t think they should let me into fancy restaurants,” he says ruefully, trying to wipe it up with his napkin.

“I bet they get that all the time,” you say, taking the napkin off of him, “Rich people are notoriously careless about other people’s property.”

He giggles nervously, and carefully takes another sip. Smiling, you take his hand.

“Relax,” you say.

 

By the time your food arrives, you’re both talking and laughing comfortably. John’s eyes go wide and he starts laughing as he sees the waiter carrying a plate, ostensibly holding a steak, completely covered in fries.

“This is brilliant,” he says, shifting the fries aside and finding his steak, “I can’t believe this.”

You start laughing too, stealing a fry.

“This is a whole new level of irony,” you say, “I’ve got newfound respect for this place.”

He giggles, and starts working his way through the fries as you try to work out how you’re supposed to eat lobster. You make a terrific mess of it, and John laughs at you through a mouthful of fries.

“What’s so great about lobster?” you grumble, wiping your hands on the tablecloth.

“I don’t know,” he replies, shrugging, “But this steak is pretty good. Want some?”

You nod, and he offers you a piece on his fork. You can feel the disapproval in the room as you eat it, and really, you couldn’t care less.

“Want some lobster?” you ask, and he shrugs.

You feed him a piece and he pulls a face.

“I don’t think I like lobster,” he says, and you laugh.

“Me neither.”

 

You abandon your lobster and share John’s steak and fries. By the time you’ve finished eating, you’re still on your first glass of wine, but John is working his way steadily through his third, and he’s beginning to look a little tipsy.

“I think you should stop drinking,” you say, covering his glass as he goes to top it up again, “Carrying you home passed out drunk wouldn’t be the most romantic end to the evening.”

He considers it for a moment, then nods and pours himself a glass of water.

“This was nice,” he says, smiling.

“Mmm,” you say, nodding, “Hey, you want dessert?”

“No, I’m all right.”

Slipping off your sunglasses and putting them on the table, you indicate to the waiter that you want the bill, then pull your wallet out of your pocket, brushing against the ring box as you do. You smile, and think that, although you were planning to wait til later to propose, it might be better to do it now.

“Hey,” you say, taking the box and hiding it in your hand, “There’s something I want to ask you.”

“Go ahead,” he says, waving a hand and smiling.

You shift out of your seat and go down on one knee next to the table.

“Will you marry me?” you ask, holding out the ring and staring up into his eyes, desperately hoping he doesn’t say no.

He breaks into huge smile, looking happier than you’ve ever seen him, and in that moment you love him more than you thought possible.

“The bill, sir,” says the waiter, holding it out to you and ruining the moment.

“Put it on the table,” you snap, irritated.

“Yes,” John says, ignoring the waiter and taking the ring, then helping you up, “I’d like that more than anything.”

He pulls you into a kiss, and you hear someone on the other side of the room saying “aww”. You pull away and help him put the ring on. The waiter glares at you as you take out exactly the right amount, slip it into the bill, and say “Keep the change.” You and John walk out hand-in-hand, and he manages not to giggle until you’re out the door.

“I think I’m the happiest man in the world,” you say, pulling him close and wrapping your arm around him.

“No, I am,” he says, slipping his arm around your waist and kissing you on the cheek.

“We both are.”

He nods, and holds out his hand to admire the ring.

“Diamond?” he asks, pretending to know something about jewellery.

“Diamond,” you confirm, kissing his temple.

You practically dance back to the car, and together, you’re the happiest couple on Earth.  


End file.
